Innocence Faded
by carryonmy-waywardson
Summary: AU; For years, Sam Winchester believed that there were monsters, ghosts, and demons around him, until he went off to college. While at Stanford, Sam discovers that the stories his father told him and his brother were all lies.


**Characters:** Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, John Winchester, other.  
><strong>Description:<strong> The monsters under the bed aren't real; vampires, ghosts, and demons don't exist… and it only took Sam Winchester eighteen years to find out. Now that Sam's living a normal, non-supernatural life - he's scared for his brother, that's still under his father's persuasion.  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> talk of drug/child abuse, implied incest (at the end), and over all dark content.  
><strong>AN:** I wrote this fic for a prompt on Tumblr, and decided to put in on here.

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><p>It had always been the three Winchester men, for as long as Sam could remember, and they always shared the same common phobia; things that went bump in the night. The first vivid memory Sam has of his childhood, and his encounters with the Supernatural, is when he was six years old, and he was alone in his room. He could hear the noises in the closet; he could hear their nails scrapping down the walls, and he could hear their voices.<p>

Each night that he and his older brother, Dean, had gone to sleep, Sam's father had always told them everything would be fine; he would always protect them. By the time Sam had gone to sleep, he'd forgotten all about the monsters in his closet, but by the morning, he'd remember them all over again.

But it wasn't just monsters in the closet that Sam and Dean were made to be afraid of; it was also ghosts, vampires, and demons, all said to be horribly dangerous creatures that sought out kids, and ate them. To a five year old boy, the prospect of demons and monsters was a scary one, and soon Sam found himself to be fearing everything.

Sam and Dean didn't have a mother, and John would always tell his sons that she was murdered by a Supernatural being. The loss of his mother always saddened Sam, but the thought that the thing that killed her could come back and do it again, terrified him. He lived in constant fear of his surroundings, but despite this, he flourished in school; lead to believe, by his father, that if he excelled that the demons wouldn't get him.

All of this collapsed, however, when Sam turned eighteen and he got his acceptance letter from Stanford. The letter stated that he was given a full scholarship, and that they expected to see him the following fall. Dean and Sam were excited, but John began to worry and panic. The weeks that led up to Sam's departure, the nightmares and fears got increasingly worse; one night, Sam actually thought Dean was a demon, and he started speaking what _little _Latin he knew.

The day came for Sam to leave for California. He and Dean were standing in the driveway of their Kansas home, waiting for John to exit the house. That day, Sam's nightmares and fears weren't as bad as they were before, and he was thankful; he wondered, in the back of his mind, if he was getting over the fear he'd had all of his life. A part of him _hoped_ that he would eventually grow out of it, within a few months of college, so that he could live a normal life.

"Dude, dad's not coming," Sam muttered under his breath as he leaned against his 1999 Mustang, that housed all of his possessions. He crossed his arms and stared at the door, as if it would magically open and his father would come walking out. Sam decided to give him thirty seconds, before he would give up and say goodbye to Dean, before making the long trip to Palo Alto. He counted in his head -_ thirty… twenty-nine… twenty-eight… twenty-seven.._

"Yeah, you should just go." Dean shrugged his shoulders and tore his eyes away from the door, settling them on Sam. The moment their eyes locked, Dean smiled at Sam, and he couldn't help but smile right back. Pushing off the side of the car, Sam wrapped his arms around Dean and hugged him tightly, clapping his shoulder lightly. When they pulled away, Dean's eyes were softer than before, his pupils slightly dilated, and Sam wondered if they'd always been that way. "You be careful, baby bro, and calls us when you get there."

"I will, and you, uh…" Sam gripped Dean's shoulders lightly and smiled, "take care of the old man, alright?" Dean nodded in reply and gave Sam's cheeks a few quick, soft slaps, before laughing. They dropped their hands and Dean stepped back, shoving his hands into his pockets as he watched Sam climb into his car. Once he was behind the wheel, Sam turned and waved to Dean before starting the engine and shifting the gear into reverse.

The moment Sam was on the road, it was like everything cleared up; he could hear the whispering, but it was far away, almost as if it were fading. He could see shapes and shadows on the edge of the highway, but he never gave it a second thought. All the time he drove from Lawrence to Palo Alto, Sam wondered if it had all been the house he lived in; wondered if it had been the brutal murder of his mother had something to do with the fact that he, his brother, and their father lived in so much fear.

Driving to Palo Alto would have been excruciating, had Sam not spent what little money he could _afford _to, on a stereo that had an iPod jack. So while Sam spent hours and hours staring at the hardtop, the white lines, and the passing cars, he was accompanied by a laundry list of his favorite artists. Everything from classical music to classic rock, to modern rock passed through his speakers, and filled the cab of the car, making him feel less alone.

When he crossed over the Colorado/Utah border, Sam was accompanied by Boston, and he smiled, turning it up loud enough to drone out the sound of the engine. The entire car was filled with Sam's voice, and the slight boom of the bass as music poured through his speakers. Sam was happy, for once, and he wasn't wondering what was out there, lurking behind the shadows. For the first time in his life, Sam was unafraid; he was excited, happy, and hopeful about his future, and he was mostly happy about starting college, and starting new.

As soon as the sun sank behind the trees, Sam stopped at a cheap motel for the night, in a no-name town in Utah. He was halfway to starting new; to the rest of his life, and to a life that _hopefully _would not be filled with monsters and ghosts. But even as Sam turned in for the night - laying there in his lumpy, stain ridden bed - he couldn't help but think about his father, and Dean. He wondered if he should call them, but when he looked at the time - 9:08, the clock flashed - he knew that they would both be asleep.

"Or they'll mistake the phone ringing for some demonic omen," Sam spoke to the empty room as he lay on his back, staring at the ceiling with his hands folded on his stomach. He stared at the ceiling too long for his own comfort, and soon the cracks in the drywall were taking shape; some of them resembled the long, thing fingers he'd imagined the monster in his closet had, when he was a kid. It was funny, Sam thought, how he could remember something from so long ago, and it could still grip him with an almost paralyzing fear.

He stared at the imperfections until his eyes closed and his head dropped to the side a bit. Sam slept peacefully that night, for the first time in as long as he could remember, and he slept the _entire _night; not once did he awake and sit straight up in his bed, gasping for breath. His sleep was filled with dreams of a new life - college, friends, a job, and eventually a family.

By the time Sam woke up in the morning, he had already felt like he was starting over, and it had started with the lack of nightmares. The sun had awaken him at 7 AM, light peeking through the curtains and caressing his face. He lay there for a while, in the small bit of sunlight, and sighed contently as he felt the warmth on his cheek. When his phone buzzed on the table beside him, Sam snapped out of it and sat up, grabbing the phone before answering it. He didn't need to look at the caller I.D to know who it was; the only two people that would call him at 7 AM were his brother and his father.

"Hello?" Sam mumbled in a sleepy voice, running his free hand through his hair, messing it up softly. The other end of the line was mostly quiet, but Sam could hear something in the background. The noise was soft at first, but Sam pressed the phone to his ear tightly, holding his breath. Then he heard it as clear as day; it was his father, screaming that a demon had broken into the house, mixed with Dean's cries of terror. "DEAN!" Sam screamed the word as he pushed the blanket off his legs and scrambled to his feet. He could still hear screaming, and crying, and he felt tears well up in his own eyes. The hand in his hair stayed put, but Sam spread his fingers and grabbed as much of it as he could, tugging softly.

"Sammy…" Dean's voice was soft, and it reminded Sam of his own when he was a child, and when he thought the monsters were coming for him. "Sam, it's—it got in the house this time," he whimpered and Sam could all but picture him sitting there, clutching the receiver in trembling hands. It was all he could do not to break down and sob, but Sam knew that his father and brother needed him, even if he was far away.

"Alright, did you salt the doors and windows?" Even before Sam finished the question, he could hear Dean muttering yes, and he breathed a sigh of relief. That was what protected them most of the time; salt, along with various other things such as Latin, Holy Water, and exorcism rituals. "Alright, go into a room where it's not there, and line the door with salt, okay? Break the line on a window, and don't leave until you are _positive _that is is gone."

Dean wasn't saying anything intelligent, just incoherent mutterings, and Sam pulled his hand away from his hair. He could hear the shuffle of Dean's hand across the receiver, followed by the sound of heavy footsteps. Breathing another sigh of relief, Sam cradled the phone between his shoulder and head as he pulled his jeans on. By the time he had them buttoned and the zipper pulled up, Sam could hear Dean talking to John in a quiet voice.

"Is that Sammy?" John asked, his voice full of terror and suddenly Sam felt sorry for him. He'd always felt bad, but now he felt even _worse_ than before, because he knew how bad his fear was. All their fears were bad, but John's was the worst; he couldn't work, so he received a disability check, and when Sam and Dean were old enough, they both got jobs to help with the bills. Sam had never known his mom - she died shortly after he was born - but he had gotten to know her through John's stories. From what their father had told them, Sam concluded that his mother was more than he'd ever imagined her to be, and more…

Thinking about his parents made Sam's chest ache and he sat on the edge of the bed, holding the phone once again. He listened to Dean talk to their father, a small smile on his face as he listened in before he was up once again. Sam grabbed a shirt from his bag and shrugged it on, pulling the phone away from his head. When he brought it back, Dean was saying his name.

"I'm here, Dean," Sam bent down to grab his boots and he took them back to the bed, sitting on the edge once more, "is everything alright?" He could hear Dean whispering to himself, in broken Latin phrases, and he swallowed hard. Usually when he spoke like that, it meant that things were _bad _and suddenly Sam was feeling guilty for leaving. "If you need me to—"

"No, we're fine, Sam." Suddenly Dean's voice was full of energy and Sam had to laugh at it. He shook his head and pulled his shoes on, lacing them as he listened to Dean talk. "Dad says hi. He went to get more Holy Water, and salt from the kitchen," Dean chuckled softly but Sam didn't hear any joy behind it; he could only hear sadness and terror.

"Alright, well I need to get back on the road if I'm gonna make it to Palo Alto by the night. I'll call you when I get there, alright?" Sam stood and grabbed his wallet from the nightstand, shoving it into his pocket. "Alright, Sammy," Dean muttered, hesitating a second before adding, "love you." He hung up without a reply, and Sam blinked his eyes, staring at the phone in his hand. It was strange; Dean never said he loved Sam, nor did he _ever_ hang up on him, without hearing him say goodbye.

Shrugging it off, Sam slipped his phone into his pocket and gathered his things; slinging his backpack over his shoulders, grabbing his keys from the nightstand. Sam made sure he had everything as he made his way to the door and he exited the room, stopping for a second to lock the door before heading toward the office. He checked out quickly, thanked the receptionist, before jogging out of the door and to his car.

In moments, Sam was back on the highway and music was playing in the cab of his Mustang. This time it was some metal band that a friend had gotten him into, and they talked a lot about death and demons and spirits. Swallowing hard, Sam skipped the song, feeling the pit in his stomach grow even deeper. The next song that came on was full of piano and that somehow eased Sam's nerves.

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><p>After an even longer drive, Sam finally arrived at his Standford dorm, and he parked near the entrance. When he turned the car off, Sam climbed out and looked at the building that he'd be staying in and sucked in a deep breath. Grabbing the keys, he popped the trunk and grabbed as much as he could, before heading inside. It took him a moment to find his room and he walked in, finding the place surprisingly empty. Sam knew that he would have a roommate, but he figured he'd already be there, the day before Sam or earlier the same day.<p>

It didn't matter to Sam, not really. It didn't matter when his dorm mate got there, as long as he _arrived_. Ever since he was little, Sam had never spent more than a few days alone, because he always had Dean by his side. Now that he was almost thirty hours away, Sam was worried that those fears of being alone would come back, hitting him like a slap in the face.

He set his things down, shut the door, and went back to the car for the rest of his stuff. In total, it took Sam six trips to grab all of his things, and on the final one, he parked his car in student parking and locked it. When he got back to his room, Sam found that it wasn't empty, and he dropped the bag of clothing he'd been holding.

A strange looking boy lay on the bed on the left side of the room, his hands tucked underneath his head, and Sam's heart pounded rapidly. He didn't think the kid was a demon, or anything like that, he was just alarmed to see someone else in the room, especially when he wasn't expecting anyone. The stranger looked up and immediately smiled when he saw Sam before scrambling to his feet and picking the bag up.

"My name is Alex. Did I scare you? I'm sorry, I didn't mean to.." Alex chuckled nervously and set Sam's bag next to his other things, before shoving his hands into his pockets. "Sam, right?" Sam only nodded in response, breathing deeply through his nose to calm himself down. "Nice to meet you, Sam." Then, Alex's hand was extended toward Sam, and he found himself taking it; shaking it slowly.

"Nice to meet you too," he replied when they dropped their hands and he reached up, scratching the back of his neck. "I thought you weren't going to be here until later," Sam nodded pointedly to the few items on Alex's side of the room, and listened to him laugh softly.

"Yeah, I got here before my stuff did, unfortunately." Alex shook his head and walked past Sam to shut the door. The sound of the door slamming against the jamb made Sam jump and he walked toward his bed and sat on the edge. "Are you okay, man? You look like you saw a ghost." Alex sat on the edge of his own bed, staring at Sam with a concerned look.

"What? Oh, yeah, I'm fine.." Sam muttered, forcing a smile as he looked at all of his stuff, then at the clock. "I need to unpack, but I'm so tired. I just drove from Kansas," he laughed softly and nudged one of the bags with his foot. To his surprise, Alex was laughing, too, and Sam smiled. He liked Alex already; he was warm, friendly, and he seemed to be someone that Sam could get along with. Yawning, Sam stood and kicked his shoes off and under the bed before he sat back down, laying back.

"Kansas, huh? I'm from Florida, hence why my things aren't here yet.." Alex grumbled and Sam listened intently, closing his eyes and breathing deeply. Neither of them spoke another word, and Sam was dozing off until his phone buzzed in his jeans. Sighing, he fished it out of his pocket and answered the call, bringing it to his ear.

"Hey, Dean. No, no, I'm fine," Sam listened to Dean talk for a second and laughed softly, shaking his head. "Nothing followed me, D. I made it here safe, got my things in my dorm room and met my roommate." After Sam stopped talking, he listened to Dean's fast-paced ranting about something that had happened after the demons, and Sam clutched his hand at the middle of his chest.

"I gotta go, man.. I need to sleep. Yeah, I love you too; tell dad I love him, okay? I'll call tomorrow." Sam nodded as he listened to Dean say goodbye and hung up, tossing his phone onto the bed next to him, groaning. Sam forgot that Alex was in the same room, and soon he fell asleep with his clothes on, falling asleep without dreams of demons, ghosts, or vampires.

**/**

The first few days at school were fast and overwhelming, but Sam adjusted quickly, and made a lot of friends. One friend in particular, a girl by the name of Abby, that he had gotten close to fairly quickly. She wasn't his girlfriend, by any means, but she was a close enough friend that Sam could talk to about anything. Soon enough, the days spilled into weeks, and the weeks turned into months, and the holidays were fast approaching.

He was going to go home for Christmas, spend two weeks there, and come back before the majority of the other students did. Sam had already planned what he was going to do when he had the dorm all to himself, and the thought of being alone _did _terrify him, but the mere mention of going home scared him even more. Since he had been in California, Sam had been having less and less nightmares; he'd been seeing less things, and he hadn't been paranoid about what was trying to come after him.

Sam was afraid that, when he went home, all those fears would come back and he'd return to Stanford as paranoid Sam, instead of the confident one he'd been seen as. He was also afraid that he'd break down when he saw his father and brother, and that he'd give up on college all together.

Days before Sam was scheduled to leave for Lawrence, he and Abby were sitting in his room, listening to music. Everything was going well, until Sam heard a noise and it set his nerves on edge, making him paranoid. Abby didn't notice that Sam was quieter than normal, or that he was jumpy, until he heard the noise again and almost screamed.

"What's wrong?" Abby's voice was full of concern, and she held either side of Sam's face in her hands. Sam shook his head slowly, his eyes darting to the open door behind her and for a second, he thought he saw a shadow move. This time he did scream, and his clamped his eyes shut, his breathing heavy and uneven.

"They're here," he muttered quietly, pressing his face against Abby's shoulder, choking out tearless sobs. She held him close and rubbed his back, humming to him in an effort to make him calm down. When he was calm enough to speak coherently, Sam pulled away and swallowed hard. "The demons followed me here."

Once he spoke the words, Sam knew he would regret it, because Abby stared at him with her mouth open slightly. She didn't pull away or run, but she did stare at Sam incredulously, shaking her head slowly. Neither of them spoke for the better part of five minutes, and finally Sam sighed heavily and muttered under his breath. "You don't believe me.."

"Demons aren't real, honey…" Abby's voice was soft and she brushed back Sam's hair slowly, running her fingers down his face slowly. He shook his head roughly and stared at the wall behind her, avoiding her eyes and clenching his jaw. "Yes they are, so are ghosts and vampires; I've seen them… my whole life, until I came here and they _stopped_, Abby.." Sam's voice was broken and desperate, and his eyes found Abby's once more. She was chewing on her bottom lip, sitting on the heels of her feet with both her hands on Sam's face.

"Sam, none of those are real; they were just figments of your imagination," Abby whispered as she pulled her hands away, only to take Sam's. He shook his head again and bit his bottom lip, looking at Abby with tear-filled eyes. "Then how come my dad and brother saw them, too? And they _still _see them.." Sam was on the verge of letting himself go and he wanted, so badly, just to do it; to cry and scream and get all of his feelings out in the open.

"Maybe… Sam, I.." Abby bit her own lip and pulled her legs from underneath her body, crossing them as she sat on the bed. Her hands fell to her lap and she looked at them as she picked at her nail. Sam knew that she wasn't saying anything and he wiped the tears away from his eyes, before cupping her chin. He titled her face up and smiled softly at her. "What is it?" He asked, dropping his hand to hers and taking them between both of his, listening to her sigh.

"Well, maybe… you were drugged as a kid? I mean, it fits; the hallucinations, the fear, the constant paranoia.." Abby's words died away when things finally clicked in Sam's head, and he grabbed his laptop the moment she stopped talking. He searched demons, ghosts, monsters; everything he could, and all he got were fairy tales, or fiction stories.

His heart was pounding hard and he could feel it in his temples; fear and pain coursed through his blood and he started to wonder if Abby was right. Sam looked at her over top of the monitor, his eyes rimming with more tears, and she shook her head slowly. Without saying anything, she stood, kissed Sam's cheek and left him alone.

Once the door was shut, Sam screamed; he let it all out and he threw his laptop at the end of the bed. The search page was opened and there were images of devils and demons, and Sam suddenly realized that they weren't real. Things started falling into place; the memories fading at the end of the night, along with the sounds and shadows, and reappearing in the morning.

Sam brought his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, rocking back and forth slowly. He didn't understand it; why would he dream up those things? And how could Dean and their father see those things too? Shaking his head, Sam pressed his forehead against his knees and breathed deeply, trying to calm himself down so he could think of what to do next.

When his arms stopped trembling, and he could breathe easier, Sam straightened his legs out and grabbed his laptop. Setting it on his lap, he stared at the screen with his fingers hovering over the keys, flexing slightly. He didn't know what to look up, or even where to start, but he did decide to go to a few of the sites that dispelled the myth of the Supernatural.

As he read, Sam's heart dropped further into his stop; eyes scanning a page filled with facts on how ghosts, demons, and spirits weren't real. He thought maybe the person was full of shit, before he scrolled down further and saw their name. The man that wrote the page was a priest, and - with a bit more research - Sam learned that he was legit, and he swallowed hard.

"None of it was real," Sam muttered to himself, raking a hand back through his hair, exhaling sharply. He stared at the Google homepage before his fingers were moving across the keys, and soon he brought up a medical page about hallucinogenics. His eyes scanned the page and he read side effect after side effect, his eyes stopping on a few in particular.

"Dimethyltryptamine, most commonly known as DMT, is a psychedelic drug that can cause hallucinations. In addition to this, DMT can also cause one's heart rate to rise, their pupils to dilate, and they can show extreme euphoria, as well as intense visuals. There are many ways of getting DMT into your system, but the most common is ingestion or injection. The side effects are less severe when DMT is ingested - unless paired with an MAOI - but they can be severely worse when injected." Sam numbly read the words out, feeling tears rim his eyes, and his chest tightened with the realization that his father had drugged them all those years…

His chest ached even more when he realized that it was still happening to Dean, and Sam gasped for breath. Pushing his laptop off his lap, he sat on the edge of the bed and leaned forward, shoving his head between his knees. Seconds later, he was breathing in deeply and coughing at the sudden pull of air into his lungs. When things were clear, Sam sat up and ran both his hands through his hair, staring at the wall in front of him.

"I have… I have to get Dean," he muttered to himself as he stood and threw clothes into a bag, before shoving his laptop in over top of them. When he had the basics packed, Sam grabbed a piece of paper and jotted a quick note to Alex - _Left for home early; dad asked me to. Sorry I missed you, Sam - _and put it where he could find it.

Ten minutes later, Sam was speeding away from his dorm; heading toward home, hoping he wasn't too late to save Dean. The entire way, Sam couldn't help but wonder how he could have been so stupid, and how his father could have done something like that to them. Tears blurred his vision, but he kept driving through them; stopping only for gas, food, bathroom breaks, and the occasional one-hour nap in a deserted parking lot.

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><p>When Sam approached his hometown, his heart beat faster than before and he gripped the steering wheel tightly. Even though it was reasonably cool, Sam could feel himself sweating and he shivered, his stomach twisting into knots the closer he got to his childhood home. The moment the Winchester house appeared in Sam's vision, he almost stopped in the middle of the road from fear alone. The only thing that stopped him from turning around and heading back was the fact that Dean was still there; he was still being put through all of John's shit, and Sam couldn't handle the thought of it anymore.<p>

Approaching the house, Sam felt as though he'd been gone forever, but nothing changed; the curtains were drawn on all the windows, and the Impala sat in the driveway and it seemed to Sam, like it hadn't been driven since he left. He parked behind it and sat in the car for another moment, staring at the house, wondering if he was doing the right thing.

Sighing heavily, he turned the car off and pulled his hoodie on before exiting the car. Stepping into the chilly air made Sam feel better and he breathed in deeply as he headed toward the door. The house was silent, which didn't surprise Sam at all, and he knocked to see if anyone was home, and to reduce the risk of being mistaken for a demon.

"Demons," Sam scoffed, listening hard and barely hearing footsteps approach the door. He could tell they were Dean's, because their father's were heavier, and usually faster. When the door opened and Sam set eyes on his brother, he almost burst into tears. Instead, he smiled timidly and swallowed hard, staring at Dean as he waited to see what he would do.

"Sammy! I thought you weren't coming back for a few days.." Dean stepped back, letting Sam through, and he didn't pay attention when the youngest broke the salt line that lay in front of the door. "This is a surprise, what are you doing here?" He shut the door and followed Sam into the living room, where he had books spread out on the table. Biting his lip, Sam sat down on the couch and pressed his hands against his knees, looking up at Dean.

"Is dad home?" Sam asked, his eyes locked on Dean's, watching as he shook his head, and he sighed in relief. If John had been there, Sam probably would have left until he was asleep - or gone again - so he could raid the house. "I need to tell you something, Dean - can you sit down?" He nodded to the chair across from him and watched Dean's head snap toward it, and Sam could almost _see_the images going through his mind. Despite the look on his face, Dean fell into the chair, but sat on the edge, instead of leaning back.

"Alright, you know the monsters, right?" Dean nodded his head slowly, his face taking an almost child-like expression, which only broke Sam's heart even more. "Okay, I've been off at school, and I haven't seen _any_, Dean; none whatsoever, and even when I think I do, there's nothing there." Sam could see Dean's eyes grow wide, and his pupils were slightly dilated, but they weren't as bad as they were before. Judging by the time - 8:34 in the evening - Sam concluded that the drugs were wearing off, and that Dean was coming around, even if it was only halfway.

"What are you talking about Sam? They're real; everyone knows that," Dean waved a hand dismissively, and Sam shook his head, clenching his jaw shut tightly. Then he looked away from Dean and toward the walls, his eyes falling on picture after picture of what looked to be the Devil. They were hand-drawn, and done remarkably, and suddenly Sam wondered if that's what Dean saw when he was drugged. Tears welled in his eyes and Sam tore his gaze away, locking it back on Dean, offering him a sad smile.

"Dean, I'm telling you, none of it is real. There's this drug," Sam rubbed his thighs nervously and swallowed hard before continuing, "called Dimethyltryptamine - or DMT - that causes hallucinations; just like the ones we had, Dean… and the ones you _still_ have." His voice was broken, and he felt hot tears fall down his cheeks, but he didn't wipe them away; he kept his eyes on Dean, watching as he sat motionless in the chair.

"I'm just gonna go check for a bottle of it, okay? And if—no, _when_ I find it, we're leaving, okay? I'm taking you to Palo Alto with me.." Sam watched as Dean shook his head slowly, curling in on himself and leaning back against the chair for the first time. Sighing, Sam stood and walked over to him, leaning down to rest his forehead against Dean's, rubbing the back of his neck lightly. "Things will all be okay, Dean, I promise."

All Dean could do was nod, and Sam pulled away, offering him a reassuring smile before heading down the hall. The first place he checked was his father's bedroom, and he tore it all apart; ripping dresser drawers out and rummaging through their contents. After minutes of searching, Sam found himself sitting in a sea of his father's things; clothes, papers, books, and miscellaneous items were spread out around him, and he groaned in frustration.

Then Sam's eyes gravitated toward the bathroom door, and he was bursting through it in no time, throwing the cabinet door open. He didn't have to look hard, because right there, sitting on the middle shelf, was a small vile of clear liquid. Beside it, lay a thin syringe and Sam's stomach twisted at the sight of the half-empty bottle. With shaky fingers, he gripped it and brought it closer, inspecting it under the light.

The label confirmed Sam's suspicions and he choked back a sob, gripping the vile between his fingers. He stood there for a second, before hearing footsteps and he instantly shoving the bottle into his hoodie pocket. When he turned, Sam was facing his father, who wore a confused expression. The sight of his father made Sam's heart jump, but when he remembered what he did, he calmed down, pulling the vile out of his pocket.

"Recognize this, John?" Sam's voice was rough and emotionless as he held the vile between his fingertips. The moment John's eyes locked on it, they widened and he staggered forward, trying to grab it from his son. Fortunately for Sam, he was younger and faster than John, and he dodged it. He backed up against the bathtub, his eyebrows lifted. "Didn't think I'd find out, hm? Did you hope that I would go off to college, and these drugs would permanently fuck me up so I'd be afraid forever?"

"How'd you find that, Sam?" John's voice was a low, rough whisper, and Sam laughed, shoving it back into his pocket. He didn't respond right away, and neither he, nor his father, moved an inch. Finally, Sam broke the silence, yelling as loudly as he could, and pushing his father back into his torn up room.

"You drugged your own KIDS, John! Made them think that monsters and demons and ghosts are real, when they're _NOT!_How long were you planning on keeping this up? For the rest of our lives? Until you died?" Sam was shaking with anger, and he watched as John fell to the floor, backing up slowly. "And Dean knows now, too. I'm taking him to a hospital, and we're getting checked out," Sam drew closer and knelt beside his father, "then I'm calling the cops, because you deserve to be put in jail, or at least thrown into the nut house."

Without saying a word, Sam walked out of the room and moved to the living room. Dean was still in the same spot Sam had left him in, but this time, when he turned to look at him, Sam could see that his pupils were back to normal. Sighing, he smiled at Dean and held a hand out, watching as his brother's hand wrapped around it.

"We're leaving," Sam said, loud enough for John to hear, before helping Dean to his feet, "and we're never coming back, okay? I'm so sorry I left you here, Dean; I never should have gon—" His words died away when Dean's arms wrapped around his neck, and he wrapped his own around his brother's waist. He held on for a moment, before pulling away and leading him outside.

Once they stepped off the porch, Sam knew that things were going to be okay from that moment on; he had Dean with him, and they were going to a hospital. They would get checked out and everything calmed down, Sam would go back to Palo Alto - with Dean - and they would start new. Maybe he could get Dean a job, and they could get an apartment, but all Sam cared about in that moment was making sure his brother was alright.

"Hey, Sammy?" Dean asked when they got to the car, and Sam looked over the top, smiling at his brother. "There's no demons," he whispered, grinning brightly and Sam nodded, swallowing hard. He didn't reply, and got into the car seconds before Dean, and turned the engine on.

* * *

><p>An hour later, Sam and Dean were sitting in the Emergency Room, and Sam's leg was bouncing up and down nervously. They had taken tests, from both of them, and now they were waiting on the results. Other than being nervous, Sam was also relieved, because Dean was acting normal; he wasn't talking about demons, or ghosts, or anything like that. For the most part, Dean was quiet and occasionally he would rest his head against Sam's.<p>

Sam smiled when he did that and he rested his head against Dean's, gripping his knee gently. He could hear Dean humming quietly - Metallica, it always calmed him down - and he closed his eyes, swaying slightly. The two of them sat like that for another ten minutes, before the sound of someone coughing caused Sam to jump and open his eyes.

"I'm sorry," an older man muttered, smiling softly at the pair, "but your results are back." The smile faded from the doctor's face as he looked at a chart in his hands, then back at the brothers. "Dean Winchester has a high amount of DMT in his system. Some of it, I believe, is flushing out, but most of it is recent. However, Sam's blood and urine is cleared for DMT, but I'd still like to refer you to someone."

"I live in Palo Alto, can you refer us to someone there?" Sam asked, feeling Dean's hand snake into his own, their fingers squeezing together. The doctor nodded slowly and smiled timidly at the boys before turning and disappearing down the hall. The moment the doctor was gone, Sam could feel his heart pounding in his chest and he willed it to stop; to shut up and calm down, at least for a moment. The doctor didn't say that anything was wrong; just that Dean had high levels of DMT in his system, which wasn't really a bad thing.

"Can we go home now?" Dean mumbled and yawned as he pressed his face into Sam's neck, causing him to shiver. Smiling, he nodded and wrapped his arms around Dean, pulling him close. The eldest Winchester fell asleep with his head against Sam's chest, and by the time the doctor came back, Sam was more than ready to leave.

"I hope things work out," the older man said, handing a note to Sam before nodding and turning, disappearing again. Swallowing against the lump in his throat, Sam shook Dean lightly, waking him up. He blinked his eyes open and smiled sleepily at Sam, before leaning up, kissing him softly. The feel of Dean's lips against his own shocked Sam, but he didn't pull away; he sat there, still as a statue until Dean's mouth was off of his own.

"Come on, you big baby," he mumbled, scrambling to his feet before helping Dean up. The moment he stood, Dean threw his arms around Sam, and he half to be half-dragged, half-carried out of the hospital and to the car. Once Dean was in the passenger seat, Sam finally climbed behind the wheel and drove them to a nearby hotel.

Sam paid for a room for a whole week, and he spent the majority of the first night trying to calm Dean down. He was freaked out and paranoid; asking questions about their father, and where he was, if he was okay, and what happened to him. Sam decided he was going to tell Dean the whole truth, and he did; he laid everything out on the table, and when he told Dean that their father had been arrested, his face went white.

"I understand," Dean muttered as he reached out, touching Sam's face lightly, a small smile creeping over his face. "He hurt us; hurt you, Sammy," he whispered quietly before leaning forward, kissing Sam slowly. This time, Sam responded by kissing Dean as slowly as possible, and for a short amount of time, before pulling away. He knew that Dean was confused - they were _both_ confused - and he didn't want to push him any further.

"Get in bed, okay?" Sam ran a hand down the side of Dean's face and smiled at him, watching as he nodded slowly. He laid down under the sheets and Sam joined after he had stripped down to his shirt and boxers. The second Sam was in bed, he could feel Dean's back pressing against his chest, and he wrapped an arm around him; pulling him close.

That night, Sam went to bed knowing the truth, and knowing that his brother was okay, and that his father wouldn't be able to hurt them anymore. His slumber was dreamless, and he held onto Dean the entire night, waking up every few hours to check on him.

* * *

><p>John Winchester was eventually examined by a psychologist, that deemed him clinically insane. The real verdict, Sam and Dean would later find out, was that he suffered from schizophrenia, post-traumatic stress syndrome, and severe Psychosis. They put him in an adult mental facility in Kansas, claiming he was too unstable to be in the real world, and he was too dangerous to be in jail.<p>

Sam and Dean moved to Palo Alto shortly after John got arrested, and they ended up renting a small apartment together, near the Stanford campus. Dean started adjusting well to normal life - life without ghosts and demons - and soon, he had a job. He and Sam lived their lives as normally as they possibly could, and they even changed Dean's last name so that they could be together.

But even to this day, Sam still thinks he hears something in the shadows, or sees something around him. He attributes it to the years of drug abuse, and the constant fear he had been in for eighteen years. He knew that he wouldn't be over it for a while, and he tried to hide it from Dean, who was doing remarkably well. They had both started seeing a psychologist suggested by the doctor in Lawrence, and they were both cleared for mental illnesses. The only thing that was wrong with them, was that they were emotionally scarred, and their doctor told them that it would eventually lessen, with time.


End file.
